Softly We Tremble
by MaeCalhoun
Summary: Such emotion passed between Erik and Charles as they waited for Cerebro, this is what followed.  A joint effort between SerenityandRage and myself. After all these years, who'd have thought we'd be writing about these two? We've come full circle...
1. Chapter 1

It was not easy standing there, doing nothing, while Hank started the machine. Just before the torturous looking device began to glow, Charles met his concerned stare with a warm, confident gaze. Erik half expected him to wink, but then the hum of the machine grew louder and Charles closed his eyes. Charles was steady and calm, at first, but within seconds his composure broke. For an instant Erik feared that the contraption would cause Charles pain, but he quickly revised that thought as Charles reached for the railing before him. His hands gripped tight as a gasp of what could only be described as pleasure fairly wracked his frame. His eyes opened once more, staring but not seeing. His face was a vision of astonished joy, and later, Erik would reflect on that moment with longing. He would never have been able to imagine that face filled with such abandoned rapture; pale cheeks flushed, mouth slack and trembling- if he had not seen it for himself.

Several long moments passed, with only the sounds of Charles' increasingly labored breathing and the obnoxious clacking of the printer filling the cavernous space. Erik was transfixed, staring at Charles as if he'd never seen him before. Sweat began to bead on the younger man's brow and lip and he shook, visibly weakened by the consuming power. Still Erik stared, silent, as the color began to drain from Charles's face and he sagged, supporting himself on the rail. It was only when Charles buckled slightly, letting his head fall forward into his chest, that Erik said, "McCoy…I think you'd better shut it down."

"No!" Charles exclaimed, chin still down but his eyes were now on Erik. They were too bright, manic and unsettling in contrast with their normal equanimity. Erik paused again, this time in surprise as a throb of heat erupted in his gut. Their gazes locked and Erik could feel his own pulse start to race. An image came to his mind of Charles looking at him like that…but from beneath him, against a background of linens and pillows. His thoughts replayed the sharp intake of breath as the machine opened Charles' mind and suddenly it was pure pornography. Then there was only the alarm, a jarring, repetitive beep that startled him from his daze. The machine stopped at once, as if unplugged, and Charles dropped to his knees.

"Automatic shut down; Cerebro is equipped to monitor the heart rate of its subject and disengage when it became dangerous," Hank explained, rushing to his mechanical paramour as Raven immediately went to Charles's side.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice full of concern and no small amount of admiration. She slipped behind him, offering support.

Charles still held Erik's gaze and seemed unable to speak. He nodded, finally lowering his eyes and wiping a hand across his sweaty brow. "I'm….I'll be fine…I just…need a moment." His voice was not much more than a whisper.

McCoy was there, next, carefully removing the helmet from Charles' head. "Let me check your blood pressure; you've used an extraordinary amount of energy and could be facing vasovagal syncope."

Erik came to himself enough to smirk down at his friend and say "Do you hear that Charles? The good doctor thinks you are about to faint."

Charles returned his smile and shook his head, dislodging a mass of damp curls to fall across his eyes. Erik felt that throb in his groin once again. "He may be right, Erik. I feel…most peculiar."

Erik pressed his lips together and stepped back. "I'll leave you to it, then. "

"No!" Raven said before he could leave. "He needs to rest, but not here. Could you help him back to his room?" She looked at him rather meaningfully, even pleadingly. _Ah_, he thought, _to be alone with McCoy_…he supposed he shouldn't be surprised. She did seem rather enamored of the boy.

"Don't be silly, Raven. I'll be just fine," Charles said, his hand outstretched to Erik for help. He smiled when Erik obliged, hauling him to his feet. Upon standing, however, his knees gave way and he fell directly onto Erik.

Raven rolled her eyes. "I could carry you, myself, and you know it, but think about what those G-men would say if they saw _that._" She stood, carefully brushing down her skirt, and said, "I think it would be better if Erik helped you walk back. Please cooperate, or I'll throw you over my shoulder."

Erik couldn't stop his grin. "That would be something. Please, Charles, do continue to be obstinate."

"Stop encouraging her," Charles muttered, but allowed Erik to support him while they made their way out of the sphere.

"You seemed to enjoy that, _myszki_," Erik teased as they crossed the grassy field to the compound.

"Yes, well, I may be British by birth, but I make a habit of enjoying myself at least twice a year. You should try it, Erik."

Erik started to say he enjoyed himself quite often. The Swiss banker - yanking out that filling had been a pleasure. The pig farmer and the tailor were a perfect capper to a hot afternoon. And laying waste to the yacht? Gargantuan pleasure, at least until Shaw's submarine launched. Then it was back to the usual – grief, frustration, rage, his personal unholy trinity …

Erik had been ready to die to shake them off, to feel real pleasure once more. He would have drowned to drag Shaw's vessel back, to extract his vengeance. But then he'd felt it, a voice inside his head sparking a very different sort of pleasure…

_You are not alone…_

"And what does _myszki_ mean?" Charles tried to pull away, to prove he could walk unassisted. Erik's grip tightened, his arm slipping more securely around Charles's waist.

"It means lab rat," he answered, monotone. He cast a quick glance to Charles in time to see him smile.

"_Adorable_ lab rat?"

Erik said nothing.

"I really can walk by myself, now, Erik," Charles said, once again trying to remove his arm from Erik's shoulders.

"Do I need to call Raven?"

Charles laughed a little and went a little limper in his grip. "Wouldn't you rather throw me over your own shoulder?"

"Don't tempt me," Erik said, hefting Charles roughly but securely as the reached the entrance to the living quarters. He had to admit the thought was provocative.

_When he said he knew everything about me – does he know _that_, too? _Erik wondered.

"Get the door, _myszki_."

"Can't you do it?" At Erik's dark look, Charles obliged. "As you wish, _gatto_."

Erik was surprised by Charles's impish behavior, but was also disarmed by it, just the same. "What did that machine do to you? You're acting…"

Charles giggled _– My God, __**he giggled**_, _could he be anymore of an ingénue?_ Erik thought – and said, "Drunk, Erik. I feel quite inebriated, but on the best, warmest, most heavenly ambrosia!" He looked up at Erik with a brilliant smile. "It opened my mind to others, hundreds, thousands…there are so many of us, Erik! So many more than we ever imagined. And it's wide-spread…not just America or Europe, but all points of the globe. Think of it, Erik!"

Erik was thinking of it, of how many things could go horribly wrong.

"_Mio gatto_," Charles said, his voice was warm, full of…affection. He pulled himself up closer to Erik's face, stretching as far as he could and using his arm around Erik's neck for support. "Don't dwell on dark thoughts. We are at the start of a new world!"

Their noses were nearly touching. Erik could feel Charles's breath on his face and see pale freckles across Charles's nose. "You said you wouldn't," he chided, albeit softly.

"I don't need to enter your thoughts when you frown like that," Charles said, his other hand coming up to trace the lines on his forehead with one finger.

They were only a few feet from Charles's room but they were no longer moving.

"_Gatto_?" Erik asked, leaning a bit closer. He was enthralled by the closeness; by Charles's eyes and their many shades of dark blue, by the slowly spreading blush appearing on his cheeks. When Charles licked his lips, his eyes fell to watch.

"In response to rat; it was all I could think of at the time. And, it does…rather suit you."

He tilted his head, still regarding Charles's mouth. "Cat and mouse…doesn't the cat torture and devour the mouse?"

At the word 'devour', Charles actually shivered. "Well, yes. But he plays with him first. Can't we start there?"

_He doesn't know what he's saying_, Erik told himself, trying to ignore a powerful stirring below the belt. _He needs to sleep this off, and I need a drink. He'll thank me in the morning._

Opening the door to Charles's barracks, Erik steered the other man inside, straight toward the short, narrow twin bed. Decorated with nothing but a curved steel rail at head and foot, it was made up with a light blue bedspread and the flattest, saddest pillow Erik had ever seen. Soviet militiamen slept in more luxurious beds.

"I think the word 'adorable' is worth revisiting," Charles announced, trying and failing to exude scholarly detachment. "You have an excellent command of the English language. So when you chose that particular adjective—"

"The subject was rat, Charles. Stay focused on rat." Erik pushed the other man onto the bed. "Don't just sit there. Lie back, close your eyes, and rest. If you want to play darts later, I'll be in the bar."

"I'm not hurling metal implements against you, I have a strange feeling you'll win. Chess would be better. Erik, don't go yet," Charles called as Erik moved resolutely toward the door. "Suppose I need a doctor? Take a look at my pupils; tell me if they're dilated."

Startled, Erik pivoted back toward Charles. Was he being too dismissive? Could the other man be in real distress?

Returning to the bedside, Erik leaned down to stare into the other man's eyes. Still so beautiful. Still so blue. "Perhaps a little, nothing too—"

Charles caught Erik's face in both hands, drawing him close for a kiss.


	2. Chapter 2

Charles's lips were soft, as soft as Erik had imagined. He pressed them gently at first, hardly moving, fitting their closed mouths together. Then those soft lips parted, a warm tongue sliding between them as Charles's fingers worked their way into Erik's hair. It crossed Erik's mind to pull away, make a firm denial, and leave the base altogether, at least for the night. Instead he sank down beside Charles, tasting him more passionately as he drew the other man into his arms.

It felt so good, holding Charles, feeling that warmth again, as Erik had so briefly underwater. Then he'd struggled, shouted for Charles to get off him, only to remember that contact later and long for excuses to touch Charles again. In the last few months all of Erik's human contact had dwindled to the bare minimum. Even sexual encounters were focused, mechanical, filling a need. The poor girl from the nightclub had seemed crushed by his disinterest afterward, and as for the Frenchman, Erik had left so rapidly, he'd never even learned the man's name. But this – holding Charles against him, feeling that embrace, kissing slowly and deeply as he had as a very young man, in the days when kissing was the destination, not the appetizer – felt better than Erik had dreamed possible.

"Erik," Charles murmured, pulling back just enough to look up at the other man. His hair had gotten mussed on one side. Erik couldn't fight back a smile.

"Lie back, _myszki_." Erik pushed him.

Obediently Charles lay back, head on the pillow, mouth more than a little smug. "What's Polish for adorable?"

"_Seksualnie_," Erik lied, dropping his boots nearby.

"Well, thank you, I won't say you're wrong," Charles said, still in that happy slurring tone. "But sexy and adorable aren't quite the same thing."

Erik tossed his socks near his boots. He should have known Charles could telepathically translate if he tried.

"_Seksualnie_ can mean sexy," he admitted, straddling Charles in one move, so the bulge in his trousers pressed against the matching bulge in Charles's. "But in this case I meant – there isn't quite an English translation. Something like – so very ripe for fucking."

Charles couldn't seem to tear his eyes off Erik's crotch. His hips lifted a little, seemingly against his will, to rub himself against it. "Oh," he murmured, closing his eyes and doing it again more slowly. "Oh, _mio_ _gatto_, you promised to toy with me first."

"This _is_ toying." Eric unbuttoned Charles's sweater vest, trying not to rip the silly thing in his eagerness. Once it was off, he undid Charles's Oxford, amused to find a white cotton t-shirt underneath. "Charles, who dresses you? Does your mother write out a card with what you're to wear each day?"

"My mother wouldn't notice if I went naked, so long as I didn't embarrass the family," Charles smiled. "Anyhow, she's dead. Raven selected these. She quite likes me in silver and heather gra—" He drew in his breath as Erik ran a fingertip along the cotton from nipple to nipple.

"Let's have it off." Erik pulled the shirt over Charles's head, threw it aside and chuckled at the result.

"What? Is it my hair?"

"It's fine," Erik said, keeping his mouth straight.

"I look quite wild, don't I?"

"No. Adorable, _myszki_. Adorable enough for a cat to lick." Settling his body atop Charles's, Erik buried his face against the hollow of the other man's throat. It smelled nice – some tweedy aftershave – and tasted better as he ran his tongue along Charles's throat. Then he bit, harder than he meant to, and Charles moaned.

Ordinarily this amount of stimulation would have been plenty for Erik. He would have stripped to his skin, turned the other man around, forced himself inside and gone at it, as hard and fast as his lust allowed. Now he was barely aware of his erection, barely aware of the fierce pulse in his balls. Charles tasted wonderful, smelled wonderful, was soft and red-lipped, blue-eyed and beautiful. At the same time, his male form was surprisingly well-developed for a genetics scholar – hard biceps, sculpted pecs, a concave belly. And the way he moaned – was it girlish? Boyish?

_No_, Erik decided, ignoring another spasm in his cock_**. **__It's virginal. Charles has wanted this for awhile now. Since our first encounter, when he entered my mind. But he's never let a man touch him. And he wants it so much he's trembling all over._

_No_, Charles sent, startling Erik with the intimacy of shared thoughts. He no longer sounded inebriated, no longer sounded out of control. If anything, Charles once again sounded like the brave, calm soul who'd rescued Erik from death in a cold sea. _I want __**you**__ so much, I'm trembling all over._

As Charles sent the words, his hands fumbled with his belt. He managed to undo it, unbutton his trousers, pull the zipper halfway down. The he really was shaking uncontrollably, dark hair mussed, frantic. Erik started kissing his mouth to soothe Charles, soothe them both, and Charles's frenetic activity ceased. For awhile they explored each others' mouths, turning in each other's arms, neither caring who was on top; sometimes it was Charles on his back, sometimes Erik. During those kisses Erik's turtleneck was cast away and Charles, grinning, smoothed Erik's hair back into place. Then Charles's hands slipped across Erik's shoulders and along his chest, moaning low with appreciation as he explored the musculature, his half- undone trousers tented, his cock poking against the thin fabric. Eric traced the head with one slow finger, smiling as Charles trembled. Helping the other man out of trousers and shorts, Erik smiled at the full revelation of Charles's cock. It fitted Charles to a T, its color, its shape, its curve. Without meaning to – Erik never gave male lovers head, that was something men did for him – he bent and ran his tongue along the velvet-soft head. It tasted as good as it looked. He'd never seen a cock he'd wanted to devour more.

He sucked for a little while, not too much, just enough to whet their appetites. Charles, lovelier than any girl, chest heaving, cheeks blushing, would look down for a moment, see himself in Erik's mouth and close his eyes, shuddering with pleasure. Erik wouldn't have minded going on – one day he would, his rule about men was silly, it didn't apply to Charles – but his own cock was exuding a miserable white pearl. He needed to be touched, fondled, licked in the cleft – the cleft of his cock or the cleft of his ass – or he might spontaneously combust.

Charles was willing. Erik knew that beyond doubt. Whatever came next, Charles was ready.

Erik didn't know why he still had his clothes on. Off they came – belt, trousers, shorts. Charles, watching, sucked in his breath. Erik kept his own face impassive. Nude, he was intimidating. He knew this and gloried in it far less than other men supposed. Best to get it out of the way now, let Charles get used to him, before they passed the point of no return.

"I …" Charles's wide blue eyes didn't lift from Erik's cock. "I wonder If I can possibly …"

Catching Charles's hand, Erik placed it against him, curling those fingers around his thick veined shaft. "Don't worry about that. Just squeeze."

Charles gripped him. Smiling as he grew used to the unfamiliar girth against his palm, he tugged at Erik with intuitive ease. Virgin to this sort of pleasure Charles might be, but every man knew how to jerk another man off. Erik let Charles go on, eyes half-closed, biting his lower lip, until a respite was essential.

"Charles. Come here."

Charles slid into Erik's arms as the perfect virgin – horny, shy, and afraid of being hurt. His cock, just the right length, just the right thickness, poked between them, tantalizing Erik with its flawlessness. Bending his head, Erik took the whole shaft in his mouth, wetting it from tip to root with his saliva. When it was slick all over, glistening with spit, Erik raised his head and began kissing Charles again, first against the hollow of his throat, then on his lips. At the same time, he pushed that slick cock beneath his, past the delicate zone under his balls until the head pushed up against his asshole.

Charles's eyes opened. He looked amazed, elated, as if he might shoot his wad from pure relief. "What are you … do you want me to …"

"Fuck me," Erik gasped in Polish, forgetting his English altogether.

Rising onto his knees, Charles pushed in a little. The result was a hot coal of agony no more than an inch inside Erik, so painful he nearly gasped aloud. But he'd had worse in his life, so much worse, and rarely with the expectation of what came next.

"All the way," he said, still in Polish, unable to find another language to save his life. "Hard as you can and all the way."

Charles pushed in completely, all in a rush. Erik grunted as the pain, white hot, overwhelming, transmuted into a ripple of deeper pleasure. Falling back on the mattress, his head banged against the bed's metal foot rail. Irritated, he flattened it magnetically. Grasping the sides of the mattress with both hands, he lifted his legs, wrapping them around Charles's back as the other man slid back, forward, back again. Erik had not had a cock up his ass, not since the camps, and the sensation was exquisite; burning, widening, transgressive pleasure as he let Charles have him. Tightening his legs, he drew the other man closer and nearly came as a burst of deathless pleasure, bright as amber, pulsed inside him.

_It feels good?_ Charles prompted, already knowing, but wanting Erik to tell him.

"If it felt any better I'd die," Erik choked, still in Polish, lifting himself even more so Charles's thrusting cock hit that same place every time. "Grab me … squeeze me," he panted, but Charles was already there, pulling Erik's cock with his right hand as he steadied a thigh with his left. Then Charles was fucking him faster, much faster, cock sliding in and out as Erik fought to slow the other man by tightening his legs. But Charles, possessed, couldn't restrain himself. Eyes closed, mouth open, he thrust wildly, utterly abandoned to the sensation and clutching Erik's cock with a matching convulsive motion.

"Charles…"

_Erik_, Charles sent, giving another vicious squeeze to the other man's cock. _You're so beautiful. So perfect_. He squeezed again with both hands, pumping so fast Erik could no longer tell out from in. _I want to fuck you forever. Be inside you forever …_

Erik convulsed from belly to balls, asshole to cock. A white geyser spilled against Charles even as the other man cried out, sending his own volcanic stream into Erik. For a splintered moment Erik didn't exist anymore – the mutant, the Nazi hunter, the man who'd sworn vengeance for his people, was gone. He was just a man possessed by pleasure, smiling up at Charles until the other man withdrew at last, eyes still closed, pink all over with satisfaction.

"I … I never did that," Charles murmured dreamily, opening his eyes.

"I know."

"I don't mean I never did it with a man before," Charles said, sinking back into a sitting position. "Well – I never did, but that wasn't my point. I meant I never used my power during sex before. Never shared what I was feeling that way." He smiled, but his tone was apprehensive.

_What you were feeling made me come_, Erik thought. But he couldn't say it. Not in his right mind, when he knew Charles's telepathy would translate from the Polish.

And he'd luxuriated in the aftershocks long enough. Sitting up, Erik swung his long legs over the side of the bed. Part of him wanted to stay, but that was ridiculous. They were both spent. And now that Charles's curiosity was satisfied, surely he wanted time alone, just as Erik always needed to get away and refocus after an especially good fuck. Besides – Charles had claimed to know everything about Erik. Suppose that was literally true? Did Charles know about Anya? Magda? Erik's failure to save either father or mother? All the different ways Herr Doktor had tested him, the tests that threatened pain and the tests that ended in shameful bliss…

Erik didn't dare contemplate another human being witnessing the truth of his life then. Funny how Charles had exulted in Cerebro's grip, psychically going everywhere and partaking of everything, like a mortal briefly raised to godhood. Erik would have risked death to avoid such an experience. His own reality troubled him almost more than he could bear; he couldn't imagine taking on the pains and shames of others.

He was already in his shorts and stepping into his trousers when Charles, still nude and uncovered, spoke. "You really don't have to go." He seemed to be striving for a neutral tone.

Pulling his turtleneck over his head, Erik pushed back his hair and gestured for his belt. The metal buckle smacked against his palm. "You want Stryker or McCone to find us together? Care to explain what we've been up to?"

Charles shrugged. "I would, if it were relevant. If they had any right to know."

Pulling on his boots, Erik glanced up long enough to give the other man a pained smile. "_Myszki_, the world has some harsh lessons to teach you."

"Either that, or the world will receive a few sorely-needed corrections from me." Charles sighed. "Look. Erik. That was – that was wonderful. Please don't go. I rather hoped we might talk … have a drink … be together…"

When former lovers said things Erik didn't want to deal with, he simply pretended not to hear. There was no reply in the world as effective as disappearing without a word. He stood and caught sight of the bed's foot rail. It was warped, jutting out at a crazy angle. Suddenly Erik remembered ; he'd banged his head and recklessly swept the obstruction out of his way.

"I can't leave it like this," he muttered, more to himself than Charles. Gripping the distorted rail with his power, Erik began reshaping it, meaning to restore the simple utilitarian curve.

"Erik." Shy again, Charles wadded up the bed sheets around his waist, as if decency might lend his words more weight. "If my telepathy makes you uncomfortable, you should know, I haven't read your mind since the night we met. When I said I knew everything, I only meant I knew you've been killing Nazis, that you want to take down Shaw. That you're all alone in the world." He smiled a little, looking so earnest something in Erik's chest turned over. "Except you're not alone anymore. You're among your own kind. You're among friends. And – I'd quite like to be more than a friend, if you'll allow me."

"Charles. I _am_ alone," Erik said. He didn't spare the rail a glance as he shaped it; he kept his eyes locked with Charles's. "I like being alone. I prefer it. Working with the American government suits my purpose for now. Getting off from time to time suits me, too." He gave a short laugh. "It was fun. Now forget it."

Charles looked stricken. Surprised – _why does he care?_ – Erik worked the bed rail with a final flourish of magnetic energy. Of course , Charles was young, gifted, and beautiful. Probably he was always the first to say goodbye. Well, everyone had to learn sometime. Erik turned without speaking and left the room, shutting the door behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

It was past ten o'clock when Erik saw Charles enter George's Canteen, a barracks bar decorated in honor of the United States' first president. Head down, face closed, he took a side booth, one of those ridiculously intimate vinyl affairs that could barely accommodate one guy and one girl. Most of the patrons, enlisted men and a few officers, took no notice, but every female in the bar did. Erik felt his mouth curve in spite of himself. Charles was clearly in a mood to drink anonymously, but several girls were already plucking up the courage to introduce themselves.

Erik raised a hand. In other parts of the world he would snap his fingers, but in the egalitarian U.S., that was considered rude. Besides, Mitzi had been half in love with him since he sat down. On her way to a different table, she caught Erik's eye and immediately re-routed. Her eyes lit up at the twenty dollar bill; it disappeared the moment it touched her fingers. Erik explained what he wanted. Mitzi considered, hurried to the bartender for confirmation, and nodded. Within two minutes she was at Charles's table, sliding a drink menu into his line of vision so he was forced to lift his head. Then she placed a glass of whiskey – two fingers of Glenlivet – in front of him.

Charles frowned, starting to protest, but Mitzi was already unpacking the box under her arm. First she laid out a white-and-black checker board. Then she added bundles of black and white pieces, leaving them in separate heaps, unable to arrange the chessmen.

Erik waited, watching Charles's right hand go to his temple. Mitzi pointed toward the far corner. Eric forced himself to sit tall, to not look away.

Charles stared back, blank-faced, until Erik suffered a little tug of apprehension. He despised fear. Especially in himself, someone who'd lived when better men had died, who'd walked free when so many rabbis and judges had gone to the ovens. Yet when he met Charles's eyes, Erik was afraid.

_I'm sorry_, Erik sent, focusing his thoughts and hoping Charles heard. _If you really want me as a friend … as more than a friend … you'll have to be patient. My power isn't the only thing I need to learn about._

Charles smiled. He was so understanding, so endlessly forgiving, like a man three times his age. Erik, older and infinitely more scarred, felt like a child when faced with that smile. Drink in hand he was up and across the room before he knew what he was doing.

"You mentioned chess." Erik sat down, knees bumping Charles's under the table.

"You were a bastard." Forgiving or not, Charles clearly intended to have his say.

"I'm know. I should've known you'd be upset. You'd never done that before, you probably need to talk about—"

"I'm not upset because we went to bed together," Charles whispered. "I'm upset because you walked out like I was nothing, like I was shit on your shoes."

Again, something turned over in Erik's chest. He didn't mean to speak in Polish. He just did, instinctively, unable to stop himself. "Charles. I'm the one who's nothing. If I stay anywhere too long, I'll be found out." Erik drew in a deep breath. "Simple as that."

Charles held his gaze for several seconds. Then he lifted Erik's hand and brought it to his lips, kissing it with barely-contained passion. The nearest table of three military men in buzz cuts and uniforms saw the kiss and stared, consternation on all three meaty faces. Charles raised his eyebrows at them, suddenly anything but gentle, British or professorial. The soldiers looked away, back to their own business with remarkable speed.

"Did you 'change' their minds?" Erik asked, locating his English again.

"Not at all. I only looked at them. If they interpreted my gaze correctly, good for them." Charles kissed Erik's hand more lightly before releasing it. "Let's play. And I warn you – I'm quite skilled."

"If you eavesdrop on me, I haven't got a chance."

Charles took a sip of Glenlivet. "I don't have to read your mind to thrash you at chess. You aren't accustomed to the company of equals."


	4. Chapter 4

At George's Canteen, last call came at 12:30 am. Erik, twice defeated, was glad to pack up the chess set, return it to Mitzi and go. Maybe he'd visit the town's small library and borrow a book on chess strategies…

"I have a flask of Glenfarclas in my room," Charles confided, draping an arm around Erik's shoulders and steering him in the direction of the barracks. "Terrible stuff; burns your throat like rocket fuel with a cum chaser."

Erik smiled indulgently at the other man. Amazing how well Charles played chess, even when inebriated. "How do you know what cum tastes like?" he asked, maneuvering them away from the other groups of men wandering back to their own barracks.

"Tasted my own," Charles admitted, kissing Erik's neck in a sudden display of affection. "Haven't you?"

"I have." Erik doubted there was a well-adjusted adult male alive who hadn't.

"I want to taste yours," Charles said, pressing his face against Erik's neck.

Erik shook Charles off, well-aware of the proximity of other men, how at any moment some of them might turn and object. "_Myszki_, I promise you will," he murmured, cock stiffening. So much for being spent until dawn. "But please don't force me to defend us. It will be hard for the Mutant Division to explain the slaughter of our fellow agents."

By the time they made it back to Charles's room, Charles was so muddled he couldn't find his key. Amused, Erik let the other man search his wallet and pockets until he was completely exasperated. Then Erik concentrated gently, turning the tumblers inside the door lock until the bolt withdrew.

"Brilliant!" Charles sobered a little. "Erik, I understand why you've always focused on the destructive aspect of your power, but you really must go beyond that. The positive aspect is so much more interesting."

"Picking locks is positive?" Erik asked, amused, as Charles turned on a single lamp, dug a chrome flask of Glenfarclas out of his underwear drawer and took a swallow.

"Opening a door without destroying it is positive." Passing the flask to Erik, Charles flopped into a sitting posture on the bed. "Let me know if you can taste the cum."

Grinning, Erik took a pull. "Not really," he said, grimacing at the burn. "More weeds than malt. Goat piss. But no cum."

"Then suck me off," Charles groaned, falling onto his back and shifting restlessly as he fought to undo his belt.

Amused, Erik was about to help him – another positive use for magnetism, helping a beautiful young man out of his pants? – when he finally noticed the bed's metal foot rail. "What—?" He blinked at it, stunned. "Charles, where did this come from?"

Charles stopped fumbling with his belt. Again he sobered a little – even horny and drunk, his fascination with the application of mutant abilities trumped all. "Erik. You did it, while you were being a bastard and stomping all over my heart." He chuckled. "But actions speak louder than words. Even while you were telling me you preferred solitude, you were giving me something remarkable."

Erik, though uncomfortable with compliments, couldn't bring himself to disagree. What had once been a simple government-issue bed frame had been sculpted into art. The foot bar curved elegantly, thinned and waved into perfect ripples. "It's beautiful."

"They say art reflects the soul. Don't scowl that way, _mio gatto_. You'll frighten your lab rat. Your _adorable _lab rat," Charles added pointedly, sounding drunk again. "You said before you were toying with me. Now it's time to devour me."

"So it is," Erik agreed, and did.

THE END


End file.
